Preacher's Quest

by William W. Johnstone

  The attack on the village had come out of the blue and taken Snell by surprise. It was an added complication they didn’t need. But like Baldy said, there was nothing they could do about it but wait and see how things played out.

  Snell just hated to think that he and the others had come all this way and spent all that time for nothing.

  Once they had determined what was going on, Snell and Baldy returned to the temporary camp in the woods where the others waited. They had been shifting their camp every day to avoid discovery by scouts from the village, and the rest of the men were getting tired of it. Snell didn’t want to lose them. He knew he needed some sort of a lucky break—and soon.

  The attack on the village by Medicine Bull’s Crows wasn’t it.

  When they got back, Vickery demanded, “What’s goin’ on over there, Snell? What’s all the ruckus about?”

  “That village is bein’ raided by a war party from another tribe,” Snell explained. “Baldy thinks it’s Medicine Bull and his Crows.”

  “Damn it!” Vickery burst out. “That tears it, I reckon. No point in us hangin’ around here now.”

  “Nothin’s changed,” Snell said in a hard voice.

  “Nothin’ except that there’s no chance of us gettin’ our hands on Carling now.”

  Snell shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t know that.”

  “You don’t know that he’s gonna live through that fight.”

  “I don’t know that he won’t.” Snell struggled to control his temper. “Look, chances are that Carling’s hidin’ somewhere until the battle’s over. Did he seem to any of you fellas like the sort who’d take a hand in somebody else’s fight?”

  “Didn’t seem like much of a fighter at all,” Ab Dimock said. “Luther’s right. When the trouble started, Carling prob’ly found hisself a hole, crawled into it, and pulled it in after him.”

  “Damn right,” Snell said. “Which means that after the raid is over, it’ll be easier than ever to get hold of Carling. He won’t have as many Indians around him. And maybe some of the folks with him, like Preacher and Giddens, will get themselves killed. I don’t see them lettin’ a fight go by without takin’ a hand in it.”

  Several of the men nodded and muttered agreement. Vickery was still stubborn, though. He said, “So you’re tellin’ us that we’ve got to just keep on waitin’ like we been doin’, Snell?”

  “If you want to be rich like the rest of us, that’s what you’ll do.”

  “You been danglin’ that carrot in front of our noses right along, but I don’t feel any richer. Fact of the matter is, with us runnin’ low on supplies, I’m startin’ to get hungry, and that makes me feel downright poor.”

  “You can leave any time you want,” Snell said coldly. “We’ve been all over that.”

  The two men glared at each other for a long moment, and then Vickery looked away and shrugged. “I’ve spent this much time on this harebrained scheme. I reckon I can waste a little more.”

  Snell nodded curtly. “We’ll see how much of a waste it is when we’re countin’ that fortune in ransom money we get for Carling,” he said confidently.

  But after everything that had happened, he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

  By the next morning, things weren’t much better in the village. The weeping and wailing and chanting for those who had died continued, as it would for some time. Wisps of smoke still rose from the ruins of some of the burned-out lodges. Grim-visaged warriors patrolled the area around the village just in case the raiders returned, although no one really believed that would happen.

  Bites Like a Badger’s scarred face was bleaker than ever as he listened to Preacher explain that he, Rip, Carling, Hodge, and Panther Leaping were going after the Crows.

  “You have great courage,” Badger said when Preacher was finished. “But you are fools.”

  “How do you reckon?” Preacher wanted to know.

  “You are five against how many? Fifty warriors? Sixty?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be outnumbered,” Preacher admitted. “But we can move fast, and we’ll hit the Crows when and where they’re not expectin’ it. That’ll give the prisoners a chance to get away.”

  “You seek to rescue only the fire-haired woman and the big white man,” Badger accused. “You care nothing for the women and children of my people who were taken away by the dung-eaters.”

  “That ain’t true. We’ll do our best to free all the captives.”

  “I cannot prevent you from doing this, nor would I wish to if I could. What do you need from me?”

  Preacher didn’t heave a sigh of relief that Badger was going to cooperate, but he felt one inside. “We have guns,” he said, “but we could use some extra powder and shot if you’ve got it.” He knew the tribe didn’t have an abundance of firearms, but they possessed some they had captured from whites over the years, or traded for with trappers in friendlier times.

  “All that we have is yours,” Badger said with a nod. “What else?”

  “We want our horses back, and some spare horses in case some of the prisoners need to ride. Maybe some food so we won’t have to stop and do any huntin’.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And a couple of good bows, along with arrows, for Rip and me,” Preacher added. They might need to do some quiet killing, and arrows were good for that. Panther would take along his own bow and arrows, of course, and Preacher didn’t see any point in trying to get any for Carling and Hodge, who would need a lot more time to master the weapon than Preacher had to spare.

  “This will be done,” Badger said.

  “One more thing,” Preacher went on. “Do you know who was in charge of that war party? I sort of like to know who my enemies are.”

  “I saw him with my own eyes,” Badger said solemnly. “It was Medicine Bull, war chief of the dung-eaters.” Badger grimaced. “I hate to call such a one by the honored name of chief.”

  Preacher rubbed his bearded jaw in thought. “Medicine Bull, eh? Our trails have never crossed before, but I’ve heard of him. He’s supposed to be a mighty warrior.”

  “For a dung-eater,” Badger said with a sneer.

  Preacher let that pass without comment. He didn’t care about the hostility between the Tetons and the Crows except as it affected his own problems. He said, “If Medicine Bull is as cagey as I’ve heard, it won’t be easy gettin’ those prisoners away from him.”

  “No. But if anyone can do it, Preacher . . . I believe it is you.”

  That sentiment surprised Preacher a little, and it surprised him even more that Badger had expressed it. That was a pretty good indication of just how shaken up the chief really was.

  Preacher wanted to promise Badger that he would bring the captive Tetons home, but he wasn’t in the habit of making promises he didn’t know if he could keep. So he kept his mouth shut, nodded his thanks, and went to tell the others to get ready to go. They would be moving out on the trail of the raiders very soon.

  Willard Carling wore a haggard look in this bloody dawn, and Preacher suspected he hadn’t slept much the night before. Determination was still etched on Carling’s face, though. Jasper Hodge just looked tired and scared.

  Rip Giddens and Panther Leaping walked up to the lodge about the same time that Preacher did. “Well, it’s done,” Rip announced heavily. “I hope Switchfoot and Hammerhead don’t mind bein’ laid to rest on scaffolds, Sioux-fashion, instead o’ bein’ buried like white men.”

  “Both of them spent a lot of time with the Indians,” Preacher said. “I don’t reckon they’d be bothered by what you did.”

  “I didn’t have a shovel, so I didn’t have much choice. Panther and me built their scaffolds, wrapped ’em up good, and helped ’em on their way along the Great Sky Road. Like I said, it’s done.”

  Preacher could tell that Rip blamed himself at least partially for the deaths of his friends. Rip was the one who had asked Switchfoot and Hammerhead to come along on the Carling expedition. But the t
wo men had made up their own minds whether or not to accept the proposal, and they had done it knowing full well the dangers that might be involved. There were dangers involved with doing just about anything west of the Mississippi.

  Someday, Preacher would point that out to Rip, but not now. Now there just wasn’t any time for such things. Instead, Preacher said, “Badger’s givin’ us our horses back, along with some extra mounts, powder an’ shot, and some supplies. Plus those bows and arrows I told you about, Rip.”

  “Good,” Rip said with a nod. “I’m ready when you are, Preacher.”

  “Soon as we’ve got everything together, we’ll get started.”

  Jasper Hodge asked, “Are you sure about this, Preacher? I mean, I want to rescue Faith and Chester as much as anybody, but it just seems so futile to go up against such overwhelming odds.”

  Before Preacher could answer, Carling said, “You wouldn’t feel that way if it was you in the hands of those savages, Jasper, instead of Chester Sinclair. If you were a captive, you’d be praying that someone would come and help you.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Hodge said with a scowl, “but it doesn’t change the facts of the matter. There are only five of us. What chance do we have, really?”

  “Folks didn’t give ol’ George Washington and the Continental Army much chance against the redcoats, neither,” Preacher said. “And I know for a fact that most folks who saw the British marchin’ up the delta toward New Orleans figured Andy Jackson and the rest of us boys were done for. But we weren’t. We whipped those Englishers and sent ’em runnin’ all the way back down the Mississipp’ to the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “I still say it’s different,” Hodge responded sullenly. “But I’m not trying to back out. I said I’d go along with you, and I will. I just think it’s a fool’s errand, and we’ll all wind up dead.”

  Preacher chuckled. “Badger just said pretty much the same thing to me. Congratulations, Hodge. You’re thinkin’ like a savage.”

  Hodge flushed, but didn’t say anything else.

  Within half an hour, the rescue party was ready to leave. The four white men swung up into their saddles while Panther Leaping climbed onto his sturdy Indian pony, which had only a blanket spread on its back. Another pony had been loaded with supplies. Panther would lead it, while the other four men each took the reins of an extra horse.

  Preacher and Rip had the bows and the quivers full of arrows slung on their backs. Their rifles were held across the saddles in front of them. Preacher had salvaged the rifles that had belonged to Switchfoot and Hammerhead and given them to Carling and Hodge. Each man also carried a brace of pistols, a knife, and a tomahawk.

  Tom Ballinger limped out of the lodge to bid them farewell and good luck on their mission. He had a crude crutch propped under his right arm, and a young Indian woman stood to his left and helped steady him.

  “I wish I was goin’ with you boys,” Tom said. “I don’t much cotton to stayin’ here.”

  Preacher knew that although Tom had gotten over his brother Ed’s death to a certain extent, Tom hadn’t forgotten that Ed had been killed when Badger and the other members of the Teton war party had jumped them. Now he was going to have to stay here and recuperate while surrounded by the people he blamed for his brother’s death.

  “I wish you were comin’ along, too, Tom,” Preacher told him. “We could use another good man.”

  “Well, I’ll be here when you get back with the prisoners,” Tom said gruffly. “Good luck.”

  “And the same. Stay off that bad leg as much as you can.”

  Preacher leaned down from the saddle to shake hands with Tom, as did Rip. Then, with Preacher leading the way, the group of five would-be rescuers rode out of the village. Ballinger lifted a hand and waved awkwardly after them, even though they didn’t look back.

  The thought was strong in his mind that he would never see them again.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Over the past few days, Wingate had gotten to know Lieutenant Royce Corrigan fairly well, because the young officer liked to talk. And as was common with a lot of young men, Corrigan liked to talk about himself. So Wingate had heard all about how Corrigan had grown up in a small town in upstate New York and had gotten into the military academy at West Point because his father had been a colonel in the Continental Army and had served with General George Washington during the Revolution. Just as Wingate had suspected, this assignment was the first one Corrigan had received since being commissioned as an officer. Why in the blue blazes somebody back East had thought it would be a good idea to put a wet-nosed youngster in charge of some troops and send them into the heart of the Rocky Mountains was a mystery to Wingate, but in his own relatively brief military experience he had learned that what the Army decided didn’t necessarily have to make sense. Some fella in a fancy uniform said go, and the soldiers went. That was the way it had always been, all the way back to the Spartans in ancient Greece, and that was the way it would always be, Wingate supposed.

  Corrigan didn’t really try to find out anything about the man who was serving as their guide, and that was just fine with Wingate. Like most mountain men, he was just naturally close-mouthed around strangers.

  The important thing was, they were closing in on the folks they were after. Wingate wasn’t sure why Corrigan was looking for the members of Willard Carling’s expedition—that was the one thing about which the lieutenant had been rather circumspect—but Wingate hoped to catch up to them soon.

  They had followed the trail toward Baldpate, and there had been some bad moments when they came upon the scene of what had evidently been a battle between the Carling expedition and some Indians. Further on, they had found some remains that Wingate thought belonged to one of the Ballinger brothers. It was impossible to say which one, and Wingate wasn’t completely sure that the body was that of either Tom or Ed, because varmints had been at it. But still, it was obvious that something bad had happened.

  There were no other bodies, though, which meant the other members of the expedition had pushed on, either on their own—or as prisoners of the Indians. So the soldiers pushed on as well, with Wingate and Lieutenant Corrigan leading them. The trapper’s keen eyes were able to pick up the trail left by those they were following. He recalled that Rip Giddens had said something about taking Carling to the valley of the Seven Smokes. It looked like that was where they were headed now. The question was whether or not the destination was their own choice, or if they were being forced there as captives.

  When a few distant popping sounds came to Wingate’s ears, the frontiersman called an abrupt halt. “Hear that?” he said to Corrigan. “Somebody’s shootin’.”

  The young officer nodded. “I do hear it. Is it some sort of battle, do you think?”

  The shots were sporadic. “Don’t know,” Wingate said. “Could be some hunters, I suppose. Can’t really tell from the sound of what’s goin’ on.”

  After only a few minutes, the shooting stopped. Corrigan said, “If it was a fight, it wasn’t much of one. Everyone has already ceased fire.”

  Wingate thought about that, and didn’t tell the lieutenant that plenty of epic battles had been fought in these mountains in which not a single shot had been fired. The Indians didn’t have all that many guns. They fought with arrows, knives, and tomahawks, all of which didn’t make much noise. But there was no point in alarming Corrigan until they knew for sure what had happened.

  “Let’s go find out,” Wingate said.

  Unfortunately, night fell before the soldiers could get very far, and they were forced to make camp. Wingate didn’t like it. The shots he had heard made worry gnaw at him. But it would have been foolish to push on in the dark, and he knew it. Even the wet-behind-the-ears Lieutenant Corrigan knew that. So they waited until the next morning before resuming their journey through the mountains.

  It was almost the middle of the day before they reached the valley of the Seven Smokes. Wingate had been here before and knew the
area fairly well. He had already noticed that the Teton Sioux village of Hairface’s people was no longer where it had been located before, and that was puzzling, not to mention a mite worrisome. Momentous things had been going on around here, but Wingate had no idea what they were.

  Entering the valley from the south, Wingate, Corrigan, and the soldiers proceeded north, taking their time now and moving cautiously because they didn’t know what they were going to run into. But even as alert as they were, they were startled when a group of about ten men suddenly stepped out of a thick growth of trees and pointed rifles at them. Some of the soldiers instinctively lifted their own weapons and leveled them. All it would have taken at that tense moment to unleash bloody chaos was for one man to get nervous enough to press the trigger.

  But before that could happen, Lieutenant Corrigan called out, “Hold your fire! Damn it, hold your fire!”

  Wingate’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the men who had them covered. They weren’t strangers at all, he realized, and they weren’t Indians. They were trappers Wingate was acquainted with from Rendezvous in the past. He didn’t much like any of them, but at least there was no reason for them to fight.

  “Snell!” he said sharply. “Luther Snell! It’s me, Wingate.”

  The stocky, bearded figure who seemed to be the leader of the riflemen held up a hand and said to his companions, “Take it easy, boys.” A grin stretched across Snell’s bearded face. “Looks like we’re all on the same side.”

  Wingate wasn’t so sure about that. He recalled what Preacher had told him about how Snell and the others had attacked and killed Mountain Mist, and also how Snell planned to kidnap Willard Carling and hold him for ransom. He opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. Snell’s bunch was almost as big and well armed as this troop of soldiers, and Wingate had no doubt that they would fight if Corrigan tried to arrest them. Since they had seen evidence that Indians were on the warpath around here, maybe it would be better to keep what he knew to himself, rather than accusing Snell. If they found themselves fighting the redskins, Snell and the others would be worthwhile allies.